Personal Narrative-Building Blocks

Prior to visiting the prison, I wasn’t sure what to expect. I was nervous but also excited to see how everything operated. I had never been to a jail or a prison prior to this field trip. I was expecting to see one big building surrounded by high fences and coiled barbed wire. Once inside, I was expecting to see people dressed in orange doing various activities, much like in movies and television shows, even though I knew these weren’t true.

He shows you a room with an insane amount of gold and other luxury items in it.

I, Deputy Gough received a call reference a white Ford truck driving in the Gamester trailer court all over the roadway. Upon my arrival I spoke with David Vore and Jennifer Vore. Jennifer Stated that Randy was the driver of the white Ford truck that said, “All Good Construction.” David and Jennifer both stated that they saw the truck drive through the yard hitting a slow child at play sign and the stop sign.

I'VE BEEN SUPER EXCITED FOR THIS TO COME OUT!!! For those who don't know this is one of my anticipated of the year (you can check out my list if you haven't already, I posted it in September). But since this is the last book of the series I don't feel the need to write a very long non-spoiler review. I won't write the reasons why I love this series so much in my Top Ten list if you would like to check that. The series starts out in this futuristic world where a young girl named Cinder catches the eye of Prince Kai, the future empire of the Common Wealth. The only problem is that she's a cyborg, part-human part-robot. For this book, I would give it about a 4/5 stars. I was definitely a great read but it wasn't my favorite book in the series, I honestly felt that Cress was the best book, then

The lake glistened before me as my mom and I pulled into Blue Lake Fine Arts Camp just outside Twin Lakes Michigan. I had been accepted into the International Youth Symphony Orchestra program where after spending a week at the camp the entire orchestra would be heading off on a six week European Tour to share our musical talents and American culture with another part of the world. I knew traveling to a different continent would give me further insight as to who I was a person, but did not imagine the people I would meet would impact me as much as they did.

He reveals his encounter with an inmate whom he refers to as “Ray”. While beginning the conservation, Ray pulls out a knife and calmly continues the conservation revealing to Hare his “problems” with another inmate. As Hare describes, Ray did not get tongue tied but yet used his charm. In addition to, this “charm” gets to Hare, as Ray is able to manipulate him and have him do what Ray wants.

Once one of the prisoner’s is released, he is forced to look at the fire and the objects that once made up his perceived reality, and realizes that the new images he is made to acknowledge are now the accepted forms of reality.

A new arrival came by: tall, long hair, delicate frame, expressive facial features. She was lovely, yet it was obvious she worked here. New, of course, for she didn’t seem as hardened as the other guards. She walked by with another guard, Hugo, I believe his name was, toured the prison and showed her the ropes. However, once she walked by my cell, we made eye-contact. Her lips pursed into a thoughtful expression and she pointed to me, asking Hugo: “Who is he?”

I always sleep on the same sticky and hot leather recliner at my grandparents. It is a reasonable place to sleep but a horrible place to wake up, so it does not seduce me to stay when the 4:30 A.M. alarm sounds. The aroma of steaming coffee fills the house as “the guys,” as my grandma calls us, file out of their rooms. We all ready ourselves for the morning's hunt by making sandwiches, eliminating scent by showering, and dressing ourselves in the only things that will protect us from the cold and the eyes of our prey. After all preparations are complete, I open the door to the still below freezing temperatures that saturate the early mornings. I can feel the dryness in my nose and can sense the morning dew laying rest on my skin. Loading the truck tests the limits of my cracking bare hands, which, on the drive, rest on the blazing hot vents that push air into the cab. The drive to the woods is relatively short, just long enough to strategize the day's hunt and chug down the rest of my sugar rich coffee. Arriving at the broken fence line that

The inmate hears the deputy call out his name. A cell door opens and he is asked to step forward where he is shackled at the wrist chains in preparation of being taken to court. The holding cell that the inmates wait in before going to court offer no comfort, are hard and cold. One toilet for all and sometimes an entire agonizing day will go by before your name gets called.

Got I really hope he has some green jasmine. I doubt it. I can hear him calling me into the kitchen to choose my tea. “Green jasmine?” “sure, thank you.” thank god. As he boiled the water I began to look around the kitchen. I picked up a salt shaker, and before I knew it his hands were around my wrist and the the blood was rushing through his veins, turning his face bright red. Fear engulfed me, but manners come first. Wanting to run through the door, I don't move. “Sorry” I don't respond. “You can sit down in the living room” without a word I go and take a seat. In 2..3..4 out 2..3..4, I feel my breath echo in my lungs. It’s as if he hasn't let go of my wrists. It feels like his hands are grasping my neck. In two, three, four. Out two, three, four. I’ll just tell him I only have a few minutes because I’m going out to dinner with my dad and he’ll be waiting on me. Within a few minutes He brings out my tea. His vibes begin to feel dark. I reach for the cup, and without asking, he grants me permission to touch the piece of fabricated porcelain. I want to tell him that I need to leave, but for some reason all my thoughts slip

nights. Give me a hammer, and let me feel for the furring. Do not de -

His father’s attempts at punishment failed miserably, as Hound in an angered state of his father’s betrayal, bit his hand until it hung dangerously from a small piece of skin. Hound hunted more animals, leaving them to rot around the village. The young group of boys stopped playing outside, out of fear that Hound would hurt them too. News of a rabid half beast, half human had spread to other villages, causing whatever visitors that came before, to ignore this village above the sea, almost religiously. Hound had felt proud of himself, but he had no idea that the other villages weren’t the only ones to hear of his

He stretches; pushing the night-time stiffness from his muscles, and takes a moment of reflection to look around the bedroom he shares with his mother. The faded pastel wallpaper is peeling, revealing the gritty whitewash that lies behind it. The single pane of glass in the window is covered in a network of hairline-cracks, like the web of some inverse spider. Absentmindedly, he aims a half-hearted kick at his prized football while he tries to recall his routine, but stops his foot just short of the ball’s bruised surface. Sibusiso’s insides feel like he has swallowed a lead weight, but he grits his teeth and gets his morning started. He bends down and snatches his crumpled white shirt and his dirty-grey trousers with the worn-out knees. He pulls them on and brushes the most visible grime off his front. There is a slightly misshapen ochre jug sitting by the door, filled with water the colour of river-mud. His mother must have drawn it from the well before heading out to her first job. He washes his face with the brackish water, not certain if all he is doing is spreading the dirt around more evenly. Eventually satisfied, he makes his way into the other room of the house, in search of breakfast. A hopeful investigation of the cupboards reveals nothing but stale air. Sibusiso shrugs. It’s just going to be one of those days. He loads his dog-eared textbooks into his ratty schoolbag. Eying the splitting seams, he makes a mental note to reinforce them somehow.

As I twiddle my thumbs in the early light of the morning, I haven’t heard the milk steamer stop screaming for more than 30 seconds. I see the two front doors as one giant revolving door; one person leaves, and another enters with the Sandman riding shotgun under their eyes. As each person slowly stumbles in one by one the smell of coffee begins to fill every crevice in the room.